Captivated
by giraffelove92
Summary: "Captivated, she can do nothing but watch." Dark Elijah. Smut. (This is not a story in which Hayley and Elijah are involved with each other; she is a bystander. It's a voyeuristic fic. So to any of you Haylijah haters out there, I would recommend that you give it a chance.) R&R!


**Had to get this out of my system – but I promise I will finish "Splice" soon. This idea just kept teasing the back of my mind. I've never really truly explored the darker side of Elijah.**

**This is vague, but it takes place immediately after Elijah finds out about Klaus's secret dealings with the wolves. **

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Captivated, she can do nothing but watch.

She should tear her eyes away, should flee back to her quarters, but her gaze remains locked firmly on his body, as if she is under some sort of spell.

The forceful surety of his movements, the hard lines of his naked body, the heat in brown eyes that are usually so cool.

He is the definition of the word _power._ But now the power that he normally controls so well is in its rawest, most basic form, and it is as terrifying as it is beautiful.

Hayley remembers her night with Klaus. It had been _nothing_ like this. The expression on the blonde woman's face is one of fear and pain, warring with what is obviously pure, unadulterated pleasure; and the pleasure is winning. She cries out as he changes his angle, expertly shifting her hips up. The movement is minute, but it has the woman wailing and clutching at the sheets, as she remains bent at the waist over his bed while he fucks her into oblivion from behind.

His body is godlike: toned muscles, wide shoulders, skin tinged golden with a hint of sun. His cock is a thing of beauty, long and thick and hard and perfect – something out of every girl's wet dreams. As she watches it disappear again and again into his partner's impossibly wet center, his hips slamming against her buttocks with bruising force, she is reminded of his anger in the courtyard.

Anger at his brother, anger at the werewolves, anger at her. She had withheld information from him. She had lied to his face. She'd thought she was making the best decision for her people, and so she had ignored her instincts to tell him the truth in favor of a shady deal Jackson and Oliver had made with Klaus. She had ignored the ominous feeling in the pit of her stomach, had shoved down the dishonesty that had threatened to choke her. She should have known better than to go along with a plan like that; should have known better than to go behind Elijah's back.

She'd never anticipated how great his wrath would be when crossed. She'd never imagined the sheer violence that he would unleash when betrayed. She had been so stupid to underestimate how dangerous he is, how cruel he can be. It had been easy for her to forget these things, when he had been so kind to her. He had hidden that part of himself from her for months because of his feelings for her, shielding her from the monster inside, and as a result she had forgotten just who, and what, he is.

He is an Original vampire. He is the head of the Mikaelson family, the eldest sibling of six, five, four, and now only three. He is over a thousand years old. He is a lord, a businessman, and a warrior. He is ruthless, cunning and manipulative. He is physically stronger, faster and more powerful than any except his hybrid brother – and tonight he had effectively disproved that theory in a matter of minutes.

It seems she is not the only one who had underestimated Elijah. Klaus had been ripped apart.

_Screams of the highest level of pain reverberate throughout the courtyard. The entire compound can hear cries of the utmost anguish streaming through the open doors on the balcony._

_She cringes, listening in horrified fascination to the tortured yells that belong to the father of her unborn child._

_When it is over, and the moans fade into pitiful whimpers, the sound of slow footsteps echoes ominously throughout the courtyard. When the eldest Original sibling steps out onto the balcony, no handkerchief can possibly clean him of the blood that covers his body. As he starts down the stairs, the vampires in the courtyard are sensible enough to step back into the shadows, pressing themselves against the walls. Her people merely stand there like a bunch of idiots, looking uncomfortable but unwilling to shrink away in fear._

_They are fools. She is a fool. Any being with half a brain would know to be afraid. But she cannot bring herself to step back like a coward, even in the name of self-preservation. _

"_Everyone in this town seems to be suffering from the delusion that I am less of a threat to them than Niklaus is; that I am somehow less dangerous, because I have a more developed sense of mercy. The _honorable_ brother, right? The noble one. I've been a little too lenient, it seems."_

_His voice is quiet, hard, dangerous. It is the voice of certain death. His eyes are as cold as flint, glittering with malice._

"_My mistake. I seek to rectify this misconception. Perhaps pieces of my baby brother scattered around the compound will suffice? I thought it would leave a fitting message. Crescent wolves, you are more than welcome to take a souvenir back to the bayou with you."_

_She gasps in horror as he tosses a bloodied arm on the ground in front of Jackson, staring at the werewolf in silent challenge. Then she realizes what else he holds in his hands – another arm, a foot, a leg torn off above the knee. They are all tied neatly together with a piece of intestine. He clutches what looks like a lung in his right hand. The sight and smell makes Hayley's sensitive pregnant stomach churn, and she has to look away for a moment to collect herself._

_Elijah stands close to Oliver, stares him in the eye, his gaze narrowed. To Oliver's credit he does not look away, but Hayley can smell the fetid scent of his fear. Elijah's lips quirk, the corners turning up in a parody of a smile._

_He tucks something into the front pocket of Oliver's shirt – it is an ear. Then he steps back and places the remaining limbs and assorted organs on one of the wrought-iron tables in the courtyard. He handles them tenderly, almost as if he hasn't just forcibly ripped them from his traitorous brother's body; like they could be damaged if treated too roughly._

"_The only reason," he continues smoothly, "that all of you aren't dead, is standing over there near that pillar." He points to her, and his gaze travels over to where she stands, and his eyes slide over her like ice. No hurt there, no betrayal – only cold fury. She swallows; she does not recognize the man she sees before her._

"_If it weren't for the fact that she is a part of your clan, the Crescent wolves would be extinct by morning," he says. "As it is, I will let you live. Seeing as you violated the terms of the contract that you signed a few days ago, you are hereby stricken from the treaty. You are exiled back to the swamp from which you crawled, where you will be left in peace." He turns to look at some of the vampires hiding in the shadows. "If any vampire, human or witch attempts to persecute you in any way, they will face a most unpleasant death." He picks up Klaus's foot, turning it in his hands. "And unlike the immortal hybrid, they will not heal. Do I make myself clear?" he asks of the vampires, and they all nod, shifting uncomfortably. "Excellent. Diego, make sure the other factions know of my terms; and of what will happen to them if they violate those terms." He tosses Diego a foot, and the vampire catches it, looking at it in disgust. "I find that visual aids are most effective. Go."_

_Diego and three other vampires are out of the courtyard before Elijah even finishes. He smiles in amusement. No one else dares move._

_He turns back to the wolves. "In three months' time, you may send a representative to reapply for a position among the factions in the quarter. Until then…" His voice is even quieter, more deadly than before. "If I so much as get a whiff of werewolf stench within the boundaries of New Orleans, heads will roll. And believe me, I _will_ know – I can smell a wet dog from miles away."_

_Oliver growls threateningly at the offense. Hayley sends up a prayer to a God that she has not believed in for years, asking that Elijah have mercy on her hotheaded pack member._

_The Original whooshes over to the blonde haired man, towering over him. Then his gaze slides past Oliver and settles on Jackson, his eyes dancing dangerously. _

"_I highly recommend that you keep your mutt on a tight leash, werewolf," he warns. "Now, you have about twelve minutes to remove yourself and your wretched pack from this city. I suggest you tuck your tail between your legs and move quickly."_

_Jackson swallows, looking offended and angry but knowing he has lost. "What about Hayley?"_

_Elijah's eyes land on her, and she freezes, terrified of the monster that he has become. But behind his cold stare, something familiar flickers in his brown orbs – something warm and safe – and she knows he will not hurt her. He will never hurt her._

"_Miss Marshall is free to come and go as she pleases," he drawls, looking back to Jackson. "No matter where she chooses to be, she will be well protected." _

_The way he refers to her so stiffly by her last name makes her heart ache. She has always loved the reverence with which he says her name – like the whisper of a lover in the dark of night._

_She realizes then that she has taken him for granted. She wants to tell him this; to apologize, to make things right – but because of her foolishness it may be too late. She has never thanked him, and now she may never be able to._

_Jackson pleads to her with his eyes; she gives him an imperceptible shake of the head._

_She belongs here, right now. _

_Shaking his head in frustration, Jackson turns away from her and leads his people out of the compound. But then she thinks he has finally realized how head-strong she is, and knows that arguing will get him nowhere with her once she's made up her mind._

_She watches them go, and then walks over to where Klaus's body parts lay on the table, forcing herself to look at them. It is the first time she has felt sorry for him; she remembers his painful shrieks. _

_Nothing will ever be the same around here. Klaus has lost his right to leadership; he is starting to look like a kitten, next to his brother, and the people in the quarter have already changed their allegiance. _

_Fear is a powerful motivator._

"_He will be healed in less than forty-eight hours. There is no cause for your concern, although I know he'd be touched."_

_The sarcastic voice is sweet as honey, smooth as silk – but there is poison underneath. When she turns, it is a stranger she sees._

"_I'm not concerned – for Klaus," she says carefully, quietly – it's like appeasing a cobra, hoping it will not strike. "Elijah…I'm sorry."_

_And there it is again, that flash of emotion in his distant brown eyes: regret, hurt, love. The vulnerability is gone as soon as it appears._

"_You know, Hayley, I used to think forgiveness was man's greatest gift," he says quietly, his eyes blank and far away. "Just now, I realized that forgiveness has never gotten me anywhere." His eyes snap back to hers. "But it is my curse. I am doomed to relive my own mistakes because I cannot seem to stop myself from extending mercy to those who ask for it. This misbegotten loyalty of mine…has brought me nothing but eternal pain."_

_She wants to look away in shame, but she needs him to see it there in her eyes. "I never wanted to be one of those people for you. I never intended to take advantage of you, Elijah."_

"_But you did," he counters softly, and she feels her heart break for him, and for herself. "I trusted you because of my feelings for you." He unbuttons the sleeve cuffs of his blood-soaked dress shirt. "It is a mistake I will not make again," he warns quietly, staring at her somberly. _

"_The next time I place my trust in someone, it will stem from my head – not my heart."_

And then he had walked away from her, and she had watched him go with a heavy heart.

It is nearly midnight, two hours after he'd torn Klaus limb from limb, when she seeks him out in his quarters and finds him like this. He had neglected to shut his bedroom door all the way, and now she watches in morbid fascination as he fucks the life out of the poor – or lucky, however you want to look at it – girl bent over his mattress.

It is one of those rooms that you step down in to, and so she feels like she is in an amphitheater looking down upon actors in an erotic drama. He is facing the door, but at a slight angle, giving her the perfect view. She feels dirty, watching him like this, but she finds herself captivated by his masculinity, by the raw power with which he fucks. This kind of sex is primal, rough, but he pulls it off with finesse, somehow managing the act with poised grace.

Despite his seemingly deliberate movements, there is something wild in his eyes, a tightening of his face, that reveals just how out-of-control he really is. And she knows then that Elijah Mikaelson has snapped, and is getting it out of his system before he has to come back to himself and carry the weight of the world on his shoulders once again.

And now she feels sorry for the human girl, because, while she had been envious before, Hayley knows that it will not end well for her.

She struggles to control her breathing and remain quiet as arousal continues to pool between her legs. She clenches her thighs together, ashamed at her own brazen desires. She watches, enthralled, as the sexy Original grabs the woman's blonde hair and wraps it around his large fist, pulling her so that her upper body arches off the bed, exposing her breasts to Hayley's prying eyes.

The young woman moans loudly in rapture as his free hand tweaks her nipple and slides down her body to pinch her clit. She begins to pant heavily as his fingers expertly manipulate the sensitive bundle of nerves at the junction of her thighs, rubbing, flicking, pinching, stroking in a rhythm that has her shaking in his arms. He continues to pound tirelessly into her dripping cunt, setting a steady, punishing pace.

Hayley counts: eighty-seven, eighty-eight, eighty-nine… Ninety-three seconds into the sweet torture and the blonde is coming under his ministrations, reaching her climax. The orgasm explodes through her in an intense series of bursts, and Hayley watches as his expert hands continue to move over her body with practiced ease, drawing out her ecstasy until she goes limp in his arms.

He spins the girl around, dropping her on her back on the bed, and raises her legs to his shoulders before he slams his cock back into her, sheathing himself in one swift thrust. She gasps loudly at the intrusion, but closes her eyes as he proceeds to bestow her with unimaginable pleasure. And within minutes she is thrashing around on the bed, screaming under the intense erotic bliss as she shakes apart again, climaxing around his length.

Again, Hayley knows that she should leave now, that from the look on his face he is about to finish and that she will surely be discovered peering through the crack in the door like a perverted creeper. But then he starts moving at vampire speed, and she can't help but wonder what it's like to be fucked so thoroughly, so recklessly; and once again she cannot help but envy the woman beneath him.

When he comes he is the most glorious of creatures: the cords in his neck stand out in stark relief as his jaw clenches, his abdominal muscles tighten, his eyes go blind momentarily and she thinks she sees a moment where all of his stress has disappeared. And then the beast in him surfaces, and his visage changes, and she realizes that she has never seen him like this before. His eyes flood with red and veins spider down his cheeks, contrasting with pale, pale skin. His companion does not yet realize that she has become his midnight snack. He pulls the blonde girl up to meet him halfway, bringing her to kneel on the edge of the bed, before he none-too-gently plunges his fangs into the smooth column in her throat.

The young woman does not even have the lung capacity to scream, still caught in the aftershocks of her powerful orgasm, and all she is able to manage is a pitiful whimper. Her fists beat half-heartedly against his chest before they return limply to her sides; her body goes lax. When Hayley realizes that the girl is on the brink of death, she looks up to where Elijah is sucking greedily at the puncture wounds on his victim's neck.

Her heart freezes in her chest as her gaze meets two familiar brown eyes.

She cannot move, cannot breathe. He is staring right at her – he seems unsurprised, and foolishly she realizes that of _course_ he has known she has been here all along. His eyes never break from hers as he continues to feed from the helpless, dying woman, who is now very obviously unconscious. He is not stopping. His mouth and chin are stained crimson. Bright carmine liquid runs in rivulets down the girl's neck and back. Pale blonde hair turns scarlet, tangling wetly at the nape of her neck.

There is no remorse in his dark eyes, no regret. His humanity has stepped out for a moment, leaving his demon exposed. The only thing she sees in his gaze is sheer hunger.

This is not her Elijah.

Horrified and afraid, Hayley flees.

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**It is a hell of a lot harder to write in present tense when you're used to writing in past tense. Wow. I never realized.**

**Alright, now I'm going to go back to finish the last chapter of "Splice." As always, thanks for reading!**

**xoxo**


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